


Phantom

by Jh3richo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Amélie and Widowmaker are separate entities, Heavy Angst, Mental Instability, implied suicide/suicide attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 03:08:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11797152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jh3richo/pseuds/Jh3richo
Summary: Where would she be if Amélie hadn't died for her to live? Would she even be alive? What was she? At the end of the day was she even a human being or just a homunculus born of evil? Was she evil?'Yes,' Widowmaker decided, 'I am evil. Amélie...you are so good...and I am nothing like you.'





	Phantom

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back to Suffering™.
> 
> Heavily inspired by Tesslyn's own Widowmaker headcannons and I highly recommend checking her out because her art is amazing and she's a wonderful human bean.

_Crack_

The first man fell, the four others surrounding him scrambling to get away.

_Crack_

A second toppled over the first and one of the men began screaming.

_Crack_

A third was trying to get into a vehicle but couldn't get the door open in time. The fourth and final man shoved the body out of the way and dove into the seat. The car lurched forward, beginning to turn a corner to safety and escape the--

_Crack_

The car slammed head on into a cafe front.

Widowmaker rose from her perch on the rooftop, reaching up to her visor and turning her communicator back on. “Targets down, requesting further instruction.”

“You had your communicator off this whole time?!” Sombra asked incredulously before releasing a bark of laughter, “Oh man, I've been talking all about how embarrassing lil Gabie used to be when he was younger! You really missed out, _amiga_! I even found pictures--”

“Say one more word and I'll blow your head off.” Reaper growled over the woman. Sombra was still giggling in the background as he addressed the sniper, “Another possible target has been spotted across town. Look for the skyscraper with a helicopter on it's roof. Target will be on the fifty-first floor on the east side. Blinds are open.”

“Understood.” Widowmaker clicked a button on her rifle and let it snap back into fully-automatic mode before swinging it behind herself to clip to it's holster. She stepped off the rooftop and let herself fall a distance before raising her wrist and grappling to another rooftop. She used her momentum to swing herself forward, getting a little too much speed and flipping as her grapple released it's hold.

She gracefully landed on a much lower roof, the instinct to raise her arms on the landing nagging at the back of her head. “ _Perfecto_!” Sombra clapped, “She sticks the landing and the crowd goes wild! Ten points to France!”

Widowmaker snarled into her communicator and reached up to mute the damn thing again. Sombra was feeling quite playful tonight and it was pissing her off more than usual. She was getting irritated more than usual.

The various doctors that would poke and prod her would declare it was time for another 'session'. Another full day of being stuck with needles in her arms and legs and tubes down her throat. Another day of countless cords and wires stuck to her, another day of those countless cords and wires shocking her until she nearly passed out.

It was all such a waste of time. Reaper had told her so and he was always right. “I don't care if you get pissy or sarcastic,” He told her once while waiting for evac, “so long as you're doing your job, I don't give a fuck what you do.”

That was enough for her. Every time they would take her into that isolated room to conduct the sessions she came out feeling like a spectator to her own body. She rarely remembered what life was like before every session and she knew it annoyed Reaper to have to repeat himself to her constantly.

Annoying Reaper wasn't something she wanted to do and that was one thing she always remembered.

How annoying Sombra could be was another thing never forgotten.

The woman deemed them 'best friends' and never ceased to leave Widowmaker to herself. She would talk and talk and _talk_ , always talking about how one day they would go get pedicures and 'talk about boys'. Widowmaker would always scoff and remind Sombra that she wasn't allowed off base unless it was for a mission.

She kept talking anyway.

The last thing she always remembered was Amélie Lacroix. Everything about the woman was remembered in some form or fashion. The brand of perfume she used to wear, how she was allergic to nuts, the song she and Gerard danced to at their wedding, how much pain she was in when Widowmaker was born.

Amélie Lacroix felt like an entirely separate entity while coexisting quietly in the back of Widowmaker's mind. Widowmaker wasn't sure she had a conscious, but she had Amélie whispering in her ears on occasion. The whispers of the dead woman made Widowmaker feel like her body was static. The whispers confused her, made her angry at how calm and gentle they were.

Widowmaker was a creature designed to not feel, designed to be untouchable. And yet the empty shell she inhabited said things that made said body itch uncomfortably, that made her want to pull back the flesh and rip the voice out by force.

Thoughts swirled in her brain during quiet moments, questioning whether or not one or the other was even real. If Widowmaker was here, did that mean she was Amélie Lacroix or had Amélie Lacroix accepted Widowmaker as a parasite and hosted her?

_Too many thoughts, too little focus._

Widowmaker could see the skyscraper before her and reached around to unclip Widow's Kiss. The rifle was snapped back into it's fullest form as she searched for the office that contained her target. It didn't take her long to find it, watching carefully as two forms moved about the small space.

“I'm in position.” She said as she unmuted her communicator.

“Hold fire until I give the word.” Reaper ordered. She settled onto the roof, lowering herself down to one knee without taking the crosshairs off one of the figures. “Target is currently seated behind the desk.” She moved just a fraction of an inch to lock onto the target's head and went still again.

The coms channel erupted into gunfire and yelling. “We've got some company down on street level,” Sombra grunted into the channel, “police and private security firm are closing in on your position, _amiga_.”

Gunfire echoed up to Widowmaker's ears off the sides of the buildings around her. She stayed trained on her target, her eyes unblinking. “Sombra, get rid of the annoyances.” Reaper growled, “Widowmaker, fire when read--”

The roof under Widowmaker's feet suddenly gave way, a blazing inferno rising towards her. She quickly grappled to a nearby building's wall as her legs disappeared into the flames and she was pulled from it as quickly as she entered. The entire building was gone in the three seconds it took her to get to the other building's fire escape.

Her suit was sizzling, bubbling as it melted with the flesh of her legs underneath. The pain wasn't as intense as when she took a bullet through the chest, but she definitely felt it. Widowmaker grappled herself to the top of the building and raised her rifle midair, locking onto her target and pulling the trigger.

The gunshot was silenced by the burning mess below. The only ones to bear witness to the clean kill were the assassin herself and the person in the room with the target. Her landing was no longer graceful, her legs giving out when she tried to stand on the edge of the roof.

Falling wasn't ideal in this situation, but once in motion Widowmaker couldn't bring herself to stop it. She could use her grapple, she could catch the fire escape, she could avoid slamming into the pavement.

But the static was back and falling felt natural to her.

Hitting the ground and hearing her bones splinter in its wake was what Amélie wanted.

What Amélie wanted Widowmaker would give to her because she herself had no aspirations. The feeling of completing Amélie's wishes were not gratifying to Widowmaker in any way, but she continued to obey the ghost's whims as it felt natural.

Upon meeting the ground Widowmaker crumpled like a broken doll, one leg folding below the knee under her and her hip shattering. Her head slammed into the concrete and her ears rang harshly when she tried to sit up. Her vision was blurry and it took her several moments to clear it. The fire from the nearby building was intense but she made no effort to move herself away from it.

A hand reached up to check her coms and found parts of her visor missing or broken. The communicator was buzzing softly, no longer working. Widowmaker reached for Widow's Kiss and found it had skidded a few feet away into a dark alley way.

Her left leg was mutely pulsing in pain and her hip felt like it was shifting as she inhaled. Aside from that and acute pain in her abdomen Widowmaker felt fine. Amélie felt disappointed.

Widowmaker grasped at the ground before her and pulled herself forward, the pain flaring with each movement.

The pain wasn't that bad. She could keep moving. She needed her gun.

So she pulled herself further, glancing back only once to look at the thick trail of blood she was smearing into the cement.

A hand gripped Widow's Kiss tightly, dragging it to it's holster. Widowmaker sighed at the familiar weight on her back. _What now?_

_T̕h̛e͜ ̵fi͏r̴e̛..͜.ge̕t҉ ̶a̡way...̵_

She dragged herself further down the alley and away from the smoldering building. Out one alley, into another. Repeat. A left turn. A right turn.

Sombra couldn't be far, she was on the ground watching the streets as Widowmaker took to the rooftops and Reaper moved through the sewers.

Widowmaker reached out to pull herself forward but found her grip gone. Her sight failed for a moment, coming back to show to her two dumpsters sat side by side at the end of the alley. No, just one dumpster. She was seeing double now.

Her body – no, Amélie's body – wasn't as unbreakable as Widowmaker. It couldn't keep moving in such a state, couldn't function if damaged.

Leaning against a brick wall with her rifle digging painfully into her already smarting back while her mangled leg bled heavily grounded her enough to come to the conclusion that came natural, the conclusion Amélie wanted.

People tended to begin begging at this point. Some pray, some sob, some piss their pants out of fear. Some demand that it just be over with, a demand Widowmaker always met with a smirk.

Amélie seems happy at the thought so Widowmaker supposes she's happy as well.

It's odd, sometimes it feels like the only true joy Widowmaker feels is when she brings suffering and death.

Amélie rarely feels anything.

Amélie barely exists.

The static was returning, beginning in her fingers and toes and gradually taking control of her arms and legs, then her chest, then her head.

The haze would be comforting if Widowmaker knew what comfort was. The feeling was so alien and yet so familiar and if she thought about it she probably felt this way because she was born in it. It seemed only natural that she die in it as well.

So Widowmaker strained her mind, tried to find the face of the ghost that whispered to her.

Her mind's eye showed her endless darkness, the sole light in the void radiating from the form of a crouching woman. The woman was curled into herself, naked, feet of inky black hair pooling around her.

“We're dying.” Widowmaker told her bluntly, keeping her distance. She knew she didn't belong here, that whatever this place was belonged to Amélie.

Amélie uncurled slightly, head turning backwards towards Widowmaker. Hair covered her face from view but Widowmaker knew that even if it wasn't there she wouldn't be able to see it.

_R͞e̶s͜t.̴..ţḩe̸ p͠ain sh͘ou͝ldn̷'t l͟a͏st̕ ͡l̛o̶ng̶..._

Widowmaker sank to her knees, watching Amélie turn and slowly make her way to her. The assassin didn't move as the dead woman mirrored her and rested on her knees. The dark head of hair lay upon Widowmaker's shoulder, arms loosely draped around her as Amélie curved into her.

The few times Widowmaker came here Amélie would embrace her if it could even be called that.

The ghost would lean against Widowmaker, sometimes sobbing, sometimes hacking up something with the consistency of the grease Widowmaker used to clean her rifle. The bile was the product of a session, that much Widowmaker knew.

She assumed it meant Amélie was fading more, dying once again.

It angered Widowmaker.

Amélie had had enough. She had suffered enough.

It angered Widowmaker at how compliant Amélie was with it.

If up to the assassin, their body would expire in the heat of battle. But Amélie was perfectly fine with bleeding out in an alley because she was perfectly fine with dying again.

It was natural to her now, having experienced it so many times.

“We could live.” Widowmaker said through clenched teeth, her anger causing her body to tremble slightly.

Amélie pulled at her tighter in response, a hand taking a comforting grip on the back of Widowmaker's neck.

“You deserve to live.” The parasite said to the host.

The host let out a wet bark of laughter at this.

_I de̵s̶er͟ve̵ ͠m͜an͠y̧ ̵t͞h̛i̛n̸g҉s̵,҉ ͏m҉on̴ çher̢, ̧bu͞t̶ ̡l͞i͠fe ̸has ̧had̸ ot͢h̡e̛r̨ pl͜an͏s fo͞r me̸. ͠For ̶bo̶th ͘of ųs̡ i͡t se̕e̡ms͟._

Widowmaker brought her arms up to hold tightly to Amélie, letting her eyes slide shut. Her anger had quickly subsided into guilt. If she wasn't alive, if she had never been _made_ , Amélie would be alive.

Where would she be if Amélie hadn't died for her to live? Would she even be alive? What was she? At the end of the day was she even a human being or just a homunculus born of evil? Was she evil?

 _Yes,_ Widowmaker decided, _I am evil. Amélie...you are so good...and I am nothing like you._

The dead woman was gone and Widowmaker was alone in the alley again, returned to their dying body.

Her head was pounding harshly as she came to. Something was touching her hand, something small and moist.

Widowmaker lazily let her head slide to her shoulder, gazing down at a small creature resting beside her thigh, licking her hand. It halted it's licks to nudge her hand over it's head, placing small paws on her thigh and standing to look up at her.

Yellow eyes stared into brown, neither blinking. It yipped suddenly, only once before it's tongue lolled out of it's mouth and it cocked it's head at the woman.

She couldn't help the grimace at the dirty dog and gave it a pitiful nudge with her hand. The dog yipped again and bounced against her thigh, trying to jump into her lap.

It was such a tiny thing, still a puppy but impossibly small. It's fur was matted horribly by filth and it kept it's left hind leg lifted at all times. It was scruffy, ugly, and it's barking was high pitched and grating.

This was not how Widowmaker wanted to die.

“ _Allez-vous en!_ ” She hissed and nudged it again, harder this time. The dog was pushed backwards, landing on it's side and letting out a shrill yelp of pain, whimpering as it quickly recovered and limped a good distance away. It turned back to look at her and began barking again.

It was too far out of reach to push further away and knew she couldn't do anything about it. The little shit.

Widowmaker exhaled deeply through her nose and glared at the dog, “What are you looking at, _clebs_?” The dog's tongue reappeared and it's tiny tail began swaying, apparently taking her voice as a sign of friendship.

“You are a filthy,” The dog leaned low to the ground on it's front paws. “disgusting,” It's tail wagged harder. “flea-ridden annoyance.” It bounded towards her and took a flying leap, landing gracelessly onto her lap and eagerly reached towards her face with it's tongue.

She couldn't help the smile on her face at the sight. The damn idiot was far too small to reach her face and yet it continued to try. “You are an idiot.” She laughed, tiny paws digging into her sternum.

It kept trying despite occasionally landing on it's bad foot and whimpering at the pain. A few licks were given to her exposed chest as well as a few scratches from tiny claws in attempts to get a foothold. Her hand eventually raised and the dog flinched at the motion, all movement ceasing.

Widowmaker frowned at this, lowering her hand and raising it again to view the same reaction.

Slowly she brought her hand to rest on it's head, fingers gently stroking behind it's ears. It was tense at first, unmoving at the attention, but gradually began relaxing into her touch. “You have had a hard life, no?”

It yawned in response, curling into a ball and nuzzling into her stomach. She continued stroking it's head, her own eyes growing heavily but not from sleep.

“Life has had other plans for both of us it seems.” She echoed as she let her eyes close.

 

 

“--ou know as well as I do that we can't do that.” Widowmaker was shifted slightly, something tugging at her hair and pulling it painfully. She groaned at the pain, reached out to try and adjust.

The moment she moved her body ignited in pain. She couldn't stop the gasp of agony, one hand fisting into a leathery material and the other clawing at whatever held her in an attempt to get away.

“Stop.” Reaper said, his grip tightening on her.

Widowmaker convulsed in pain, cracking her eyes open to stare up into the empty sockets of his mask. He held her from her shoulders and the backs of her knees, shifting her slightly to rest her head against his shoulder and ripping another gasp from her.

Sombra was beside them now, reaching out and injecting a small yellow cylinder into her arm. The pain lessened instantly and Widowmaker let her body slump heavily into Reaper's arms.

“There we go,” Sombra twirled the syringe before pocketing it, “all doped up and ready to party.” She gave Widowmaker a wide grin and added, “Good to see you again, _araña_. We should be at evac soon. I brought your friend too.”

Widowmaker narrowed her brows at this and Sombra lifted her other hand to reveal the dog. It was stiff and immobile in the hacker's grip, body slightly shaking.

Something sparked within Widowmaker's chest at the sight, something eerily familiar. “Give him to me.” She growled a little too fiercely.

Sombra's eyes raised at the demand but brought it to rest on her lap again. Widowmaker curled protectively over the dog, watching it relax in her presence and lick at her hand. She could feel Reaper's eyes on her as she stroked the dog's head.

“They won't let you keep it.” He rumbled as he continued walking, jostling her slightly. She knew what he meant. Her usual 'handlers'. They were the ones who kept her medical chart and decided when she needed another session. They were also the ones who killed Amélie and birthed Widowmaker.

The thought of them made Widowmaker bristle, her grip tightening slightly on the dog. Then, a new thought.

But they hadn't killed Amélie. She was still here. They hadn't let her stay, had tried to flush her out like an infection while infecting her body with Widowmaker's being.

_I protect Amélie, I can protect this mutt from damnation as well._

“I don't care.” Widowmaker whispered, scooting the dog onto her chest and letting it cuddle into her cold flesh. Sombra snickered from beside her.

“Good luck, _araña._ ” She hummed in thought and snapped her fingers, “I bet I could sneak him onto base if you're willing to part with your sweet little _perro_ for a while.”

Reaper growled and his grip tightened slightly. “They'll find it. It can't stay.” He looked down at Widowmaker and said flatly, “Just put the damn thing out of his misery. It's tiny and injured; it won't live long anyway.”

“You do not know that!” Widowmaker barked harshly, something rattling deep within her chest and making her wince. She coughed roughly, spitting flecks of blood onto Reaper's chest and glaring from them to the man.

If she knew how to project how angry the thought of the damn dog dying she would.

It wasn't built for fighting like she was! It wasn't strong like she was! It wasn't unbreakable like she was!

It was fragile and small and defenseless! It was broken...it...

It was the same as Amélie.

And Widowmaker could protect it.

He stared back in silence. He eventually looked away and motioned toward Sombra with his head, “Hit her again. She's loosing too much blood.”

Widowmaker held the dog closer to her barely beating heart as Sombra produced another syringe from under her cloak and stuck it in the assassin's arm. Her heavy eyelids quickly closed and she accepted the darkness of sleep.

 

 

When she awoke she found herself in her room.

The standard grey bed sheets were itchy beneath her. Her bunk was dull, void of anything aside from a few ballet playbills Reaper had given to her when she first came to be.

The room itself had a few personalized things such as a display case for Widow's Kiss, complete with it's repair and cleaning kit and carrying case, a holoscreen mounted to the wall opposite her bunk, turned off and rarely used, an armoire , filled with clothing she bought on a whim with a respectable collection of snow globes Sombra gave to her atop it, and a vanity, stocked with various high end makeup brands.

Seated at the vanity was Reaper, arms crossed and breathing deeply in sleep. He was out of his cloak and armor, wearing a thick jacket with the hood pulled up instead. His mask was removed and rest against the vanity mirror.

Widowmaker's eyes were instantly drawn to the tiny dog, freshly washed, sleeping in his lap.

She stretched slightly, acutely aware of the plaster going up her leg. A hand carefully lifted the sheets to observe the damage.

Cast on the leg, bandages wrapped tightly from her thighs to her chest. The bandages around her hip were stained a light pink and she could feel the stitches rub painfully against the rough covering.

Eyes returned to the dog, relief flooding her senses at the sight of it but also at the fact that she remembered. They hadn't wiped her, she was still here.

“You're awake.” Reaper rumbled and her eyes darted to his face. He seemed to shrink back into his hood at her gaze, trying to hide as much as possible. “A month of recovery and physical therapy they say. I say two weeks.”

He produced a small purple cube from his pocket, something Sombra had created, and gave it a small spin. “We've got a new mission. Russia. Volskaya Industries.” Widowmaker nodded, gaze returning to the dog.

Reaper followed her gaze and chuckled, “I didn't think anyone would take me seriously walking in with this damn thing under my arm, but no one questioned it past 'you're cleaning up after it'.” He stood and made the stride to her bunk, placing the dog beside her head.

It yawned and blinked a few times before realizing where it was, yipping and eagerly licking Widowmaker's face. She couldn't supress the giggle in her throat at the assault of tiny paws and licks but quickly remembered Reaper and made herself neutral again.

“I wrapped it's leg up,” Reaper said as he sat on the edge of her bunk and watched the exchange, “but I don't think it'll ever walk properly again. Looks like it's taken one hit too many.”

Widowmaker frowned at this and looked at the offending leg. The dog didn't seem to mind, bounding down her bed to yip at Reaper before returning to lick her cheek again. “It's a boy, by the way.” Reaper added.

Silence hung through the air and the assassin knew Reaper was expecting something from her.

She didn't know what he wanted from her when he did this and it aggravated her. Widowmaker knew she wasn't the greatest at picking up social cues and the fact that Reaper approached her inability with waning patience pissed her off.

“Sombra's taken to calling it _cojo_.”

Widowmaker scoffed at the name, “What a horrible name.” She paused and frowned in thought.

_B҉e͞a̵u..._

“Beau.” She echoed Amélie's offer.

Reaper watched the dog curl up next to Widowmaker's face and snorted, “Beau, huh?” He stood and stretched, popping his back and grunting, “If it shits you clean it up. If I step in it I'm twisting it's head off. Two weeks, then you're back on the mission board.”

Widowmaker watched him approach her door and stop, facing away from her.

“When you fell,” He glanced back at her, a lone red eye staring at her from beneath his hood, “you did it for _her_ , didn't you?”

How Reaper knew about Amélie was lost to Widowmaker. When he first mentioned the ghost it shook Widowmaker to the core, fear that he would tell her handlers that the woman still lived creeping in.

But he never said a word. Reaper would ask about her on occasion but it was always as a final thought or in passing. Little things, like what she looked like to Widowmaker or how she was feeling.

It was such an odd comfort to have someone else asking about the ghost, to have someone possibly _care_ about her.

“Of course.” Widowmaker answered.

Reaper nodded. “She's lucky to have you.”

He left with those words, and they seemed to hang in the air around the assassin.

No, she wasn't. Amélie was lucky to be alive – if you could call this _alive_ – she was lucky to be a human being. Amélie wasn't lucky that Widowmaker stole her life from her.

The fact that Reaper would even say such a thing made her form tight fists and clench her teeth.

He didn't understand the pain Amélie felt like Widowmaker did, he couldn't know how much she longed for an end to her suffering.

Amélie wasn't lucky to have Widowmaker, Widowmaker was lucky to have Amélie.

Without the dead woman, Widowmaker would be the same empty husk she was when she was first created. Without the dead woman, Widowmaker would be just another gun for Talon. Without the dead woman, Widowmaker would be alone.

The isolation cut into the assassin like a knife. Once tasting attention she craved it, longed to have someone to speak to freely and without fear or restrictions.

To have someone who understand as much and as little as she did as a relief. To have someone who approached her with a gentleness that wasn't from fear was a relief.

Amélie pitied Widowmaker as much as Widowmaker pitied Amélie.

And Widowmaker was lucky to have that pity.

Amélie understood that Widowmaker was brought into this world through hate and evil but still embraced her willingly. The ghost wasn't angry at the parasite for existing, only angry at the ones who created the parasite in the first place.

If the dead woman loved Widowmaker was questionable. If Widowmaker loved the dead woman shouldn't even be a question.

She didn't know what love was, she was created not to feel, but the heaviness in her chest when Amélie was in pain gave her a good idea of what it was.

Tears slid from the corners of Widowmaker's eyes and her breathing hitched.

She wasn't crying. She felt nothing aside from the dull pains and aches of her body.

But Amélie wept for the both of them. She whispered assurances in Widowmaker's ear that she too loved her, that she wasn't upset at their living. For a moment, it almost felt like the ghost was holding Widowmaker again. But the static wasn't there and she was still in her bunk.

Beau moved slightly in his sleep, nudging her cheek slightly and whining softly.

Amélie wept through Widowmaker's eyes and the assassin allowed her to. She was lucky she could experience such emotions, lucky the ghost was so accepting of her existence.

Widowmaker was lucky to sob into her hand and be comforted by the life she helped ruin.

_H̸ųs͟h̢ n͞ow͡, ͢mo͟n c̴h̵é̢ri...yo̵u͟ ar̢e ͏not̷ alo̶ne.̶.̢.y̢ou a͝r҉e͟ l̵ov͠e͘d̡..͏.̴y̷o̵u d̸es͏erv̶e ͏li҉f͠e̴._

_And you deserve your own life again. But I suppose life has had other plans for both of us. Right, fantôme?_

**Author's Note:**

> Once again huge props to this lovely [human](http://artbytesslyn.tumblr.com) for being a constant source of inspiration for me! Check her out!
> 
> I'm sorry if Amélie's dialogue is hard to read (I'm extra okay?) and if you need me to change the text back to normal I will gladly do so!
> 
> My Tumblr: [( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°)](http://jhericho.tumblr.com)


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